Late August
by RoseColouredDreams
Summary: France attempts to win England over with a home made meal.


It was late August. England hadn't left his house for two days. He was laid down on his large black sofa in a manner too casual for anyone else to see him in. He looked over to his left side to see a picture of Sealand in a small frame covered in shells. He smiled at this for a moment before mentally reminding himself how annoying the younger nation really was. It was then that he realised that it was getting to that point in summer which he always hated. The part where most of the nations closer to him were off on holiday. The point where he began to stay in alone more. The point where…

The phone began to ring. Sluggishly, England stood up and dragged himself to the phone. Although the thought of talking to someone after a whole two days actually excited him, he always found himself becoming lazier on days alone. He brought the phone to his ear, only to hear what he had dreaded most.

The French laugh from down the phone was enough to make England sigh and actually consider hanging up. But for some reason, which England put down to desperation for some entertainment, he didn't hang up.

"Allo, Arthur!" France cooed down the phone.  
"Did you miss the sound of my gorgeous voice these past few days?"  
"Past few days?! It's been longer than that, you bloody idiot." England growled.  
"Ah, so you have missed me? Well then you are in luck, mon ami!" He replied, a little taken back but in no way prepared to let England know.  
"Oh?"  
"Come over for dinner tonight, mon cher? I am prepared to make an amazing meal and I have nobody here to share it with."  
The British nation's heart pounded in an unusual way. He was in no way prepared for this. Yet before he could reply, France said  
"I will pick you up at seven, Arthur. You're in for quite a treat tonight." Then he hung up, leaving England feeling slightly unsettled. "When France says I'm in for a treat, no good can come of it." England thought to himself.

Despite the amount of dread towards this and how little England decided he'd show france he cared, he went upstairs and took a long shower. He'd not washed his hair in a few days and needless to say it was nearly as greasy as the chips he'd been practically living off recently.

In the shower, he thought of what France might look like tonight and how he'd be dressed. He knew France would have his golden silky hair looking perfect and that he'd be dressed in the latest French fashion. More annoyingly, France always seemed to look that way so effortlessly. England was sure he did it just to irritate him. Especially since England's most regretted stage of trying to imitate France's hairstyle.

England got dressed in one of his nicer white shirts, combed his hair and wore his most expensive British deodorant. He wasn't going to let France see him looking less than perfect. He wouldn't want one of France's long rants on how men should take care of themselves. It's not like he maybe wanted to impress France or anything…

England wasn't prepared to let France pick him up. Lest he have to sit through France playing his awful French love songs that France so frequently went round whistling. Once England was ready, he set off to France's home immediately.

England pulled up his bicycle and rung the Frenchman's doorbell. A few moments passed before France opened the door. He looked down at England's slightly red face and chuckled.  
"I told you I'd pick you up, Arthur. You really didn't have to cycle here. However I do adore seeing you flushed and panting."  
France gestured at England to follow him through to his dining room.  
Looking around, England realised he'd forgot just how fancy, sophisticated the dining room was. Pictures of various French chefs along with many of France himself covered the  
olive walls. In the middle of the room was a large table with a chandelier hanging above.

"We're actually dining in here?" England asked in awe.  
"Non but I would ask you to wait in here while I finish bringing the food into the room that we will be dining in, Britain." France replied.  
"Oh." England said bluntly, the awe disappearing from his voice.

"Of course that bastard wouldn't have me eat in here. Is he trying to say I'm not worthy of this room. I'll show him bloody worthy…"England thought.

France opened the door to a smaller room.  
"Please, come and sit in this room." France said, smiling.  
"I think it would be more appropriate, non?"

England walked into the smaller room to find a small table and a candle-lit dinner consisting of duck a l'orange and bottle of Chablis. It was fairly dark in the room apart from around the candle-lit table. The curtains were shut, as England noted.

"You call this appropriate?!" England panicked.  
"Oui." France replied a little put out.  
"This looks almost romantic." England exclaimed, sitting down on the chair France pulled out for him.  
"Merci."  
"That wasn't a compliment."

The two of them sat down and without another word they both began to eat. Although England hated to admit it, the meal was the best thing he'd tasted for as long as he could remember. He finished eating before France. France always was a slow eater.

England gazed across the table at France. France's hair rested on the shoulders of his black shirt. England kept watching as France sipped his drink. He couldn't help but stare at the way Frances lips clung around the glass. He couldn't stop watching as France licked his lips slowly and…. Far too suggestively.

"Must you do that?" England blurted out.  
"Do what?" France asked acting puzzled but winking a moment afterwards.  
"You bloody wanker!"

Yes, England knew he was getting jealous, irritated and…frustrated with France's actions. His small temper for the Frenchman was nearing its end. He wasn't quite sure why but he had been finding France less tolerable than usual lately. He looked down at his drink for a few minutes to avoid facing the other nation.

Soon, after France finally finished eating, He went to bring the dessert in. "For dessert, I made mocha pots de crème." France said with a beaming smile, clearly proud of them.

As France placed the dessert in front of England, he rose from his seat. France was now genuinely confused.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing, Frog?!"  
England asked, his voice growing louder.  
"First you set up some unplanned candle-lit meal and then you bring in a heart shaped dessert? Whatever sick way of trying to get me into bed you're pulling, I can assure you that it won't work." England ranted angrily.  
"Quoi? But Arthur, I-"  
"I knew that's all you wanted!" England shouted, briskly walking out of the house.

England couldn't handle this. He knew he was wrong to do this but dammit he wasn't going to be taken advantage of. He knew how that felt too damn well. Despite France calling him back and walking out after him, England got on his bike and cycled away down the street.

After cycling for about 20 minutes with a tear in his eye, England set his bike down and walked over to the nearest pub. It was hardly the sort they had in his own area but it had alcohol and that was all he needed to cope, as far as he was concerned.

He went in, pulled out his wallet and ordered a drink of whiskey. He quickly gulped down the first drink and turned his mobile phone off. He sat at the bar and ordered drink after drink. He knew he was pathetic for the way he coped with this and he thought of what various figures such as the Queen would say. This made him feel worse and drink more though.

France sat down on the chair he had next to the hall and threw his head into his hands. He'd really put his heart into this meal. He really wanted to surprise and win over England with his cooking skills. He just wanted to do something romantic to charm England.

"I call myself the country of romance yet I always manage to mess things up with the one I love most. Why can he not see that I am just trying to create a beautiful night for us both?" France sighed as a tear rolled down his face.

Meanwhile, England was on his second bottle of whiskey and ordering another from the clearly irresponsible bartender.  
He slouched and rested his dizzy head in his own arms on the counter.

France decided to try calling England to apologise. He took out his phone and dialled England's number. He sat with the phone clutched in his left hand as his other hand wiped his tears away.  
As soon as he realised England's phone was off, he was sure something was wrong.

France went out to his shiny black Citroën DS4, hopped in and hastily went out in search for England. This wasn't a time to feel sorry for himself. Not when a nation he cared for could be in danger.

France knew England well enough to know he would have gone drinking. France also knew how awful he was at taking care of himself, which worried him more.  
He tried searching in all of the bars he knew in the town but with no luck. It was getting dark and France was out of ideas. He tried calling England several more times on both his mobile and house phone but to no avail.

England had just finished another drink as the bar was closing. He rubbed his face with his hands; tonight had been confusing enough without all the alcohol mixing it up. He stumbled out onto the pavement and looked down at his bike. There was no way he could ride it in this condition. He took out his phone to call a taxi but in his drunken state he didn't realise it was turned off. "Stupid piece of crap phone…. bloody… fuck it." He threw his phone onto the ground and walked off aimlessly.

As France walked over to his car after trying the last bar he knew, he noticed a very familiar sound. He turned to see Arthur singing lines from various Beatles songs whilst making his way into a park.

France hurried over to him, frantically calling his name. The now dark night sky only lit by the street lamps and few visible stars hung over the park. England stumbled and sat down on a cold wooden park bench whilst caressing a whiskey bottle.

"What are you…what ...why are you here, frog?" The drunken nation asked accusingly.

France stood looking down at England. He let out a deep sigh and sat down beside him. Overwhelmed with the joy and relief that England was okay, he took the younger nation into his arms and told him "Parce que je t'aime, Mon amour."

To France's surprise England clung to the larger nation's arm and mumbled back "I love you too, you fool."  
France smiled weakly, still clinging onto him.  
"I'm sorry for scaring you with my amazing cooking and great hospitality, Arthur." He whispered.  
"Shut up and take me home, Idiot." England mumbled in annoyance and pain from his growing headache.  
"Non, I shall take care of you tonight. You're coming back to mine." France replied softly.

With that, France picked England up from the bench, bridal style and began to carry him back to his car. England slurred various words strung together in sentences that really made no sense at this stage whilst he buried his head into France's musky scented chest.

By the time they got back to the car, England had just about fallen asleep in France's arms.  
"I'll take care of you, Anglettere. Always." France said sweetly.  
He collected England's bike, which he'd noticed, on the way to the car whilst his hands were full with carrying England. France lifted it into the trunk with his strong arms and got into the front of the car, beside England.

After that, when they arrived back at France's house, France carefully lifted England out of his car and carried him inside, up to his room. He lifted the silky red covers from his king sized bed and lay England on the bed. France then placed England gently onto the bed and put the duvet back over him. France watched over England for a few moments, taking in how peaceful he seemed in his drunken, sleeping state.

"So beautifully peaceful." France thought.  
He leaned over England and planted a light kiss on his forehead. France then collapsed onto the bed himself, missing the small smile on England's lips. The two of them slept peacefully together and they both knew it would be the first time of many.


End file.
